


Of Grace and Holy Fire

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Branding, Castiel Whump, Day 14, M/M, POV Castiel, Technically Destiel is a thing in this, Whump, Whumptober 2020, but it's barely mentioned, is something burning?, my bad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: While searching for a way to save Jack, Castiel is caught and branded.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Of Grace and Holy Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020
> 
> No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING?
> 
> Branding

Castiel was alone, trying to find someone who could possibly save Jack, when the angels got him.

Fighting had almost helped him escape, seeing as he’d killed one of the two angels. But the other one stabbed him through the thigh, bringing him to his knees, and then held the blade to his throat.

“You’re going to cooperate.” An order.

If he himself was the only one who would be put in danger from his actions, Castiel would’ve slammed his head back while reaching for the wrist and twisting it. His attacker would fall back, and Castiel would end up with the blade. But that would risk his life. And he couldn’t do that to his family, couldn’t do that to Jack.

“If I take the blade away, will you run?” the angel questioned.

“What do you think, Azriael?” Castiel asked, tone dry, but laced with pain.

Blood had soaked into his pants, and was now running into the dry grass. The practically-dehydrated soil drank it up eagerly. Castiel hated that soil. He wanted to tell it to — in the eternal words of Dean Winchester — fuck off. Why was it that one small patch of ground that angered him? Where was his fury at Azriael?

Maybe it was bleeding out through the deep wound in his thigh. Maybe it was drowned in the worry for Jack. Would his son even be alive when — _if_ — he made it back?

“There’s no winning here,” Azriael stated.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll just let you take me.”

Azriael muttered quite a few words that would certainly keep a human out of Heaven, and stabbed down into his other thigh like it was a sheathe. His body easily held it in place. Castiel’s hands were grabbed as he let out a cry, and a knee smacked into his back, making him fall forward. The force of the fall pushed the blade deeper, leaving him screaming. It wasn’t long before angelic handcuffs were placed around his wrists.

Castiel tried to grit his teeth against yet another scream as the blade was drawn out of him, but it was no use. Azriael hauled him up. And Castiel found that his legs wouldn’t support him. This left him being unceremoniously dragged across the ground, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

It wasn’t long before they reached the road, and Cas was thrown into the trunk of a car.

After an hour of that ride that was so dull there was nothing to distract him from the pain or the catastrophizing thoughts in his head, Castiel began to wish that angels could pass out. They could, if hurt badly enough, or if made to by another angel. But Azriael seemed to enjoy going over every possible bump along the road, and he wouldn’t have nearly as much fun with that with him asleep.

Castiel’s phone started ringing, and he did his best to lay down on it to muffle the sound. Reminding Azriael that he’d left his phone on him would be plain stupid.

But maybe it was Dean. Castiel twisted, breathing hard and whimpering from the pressure this put on his stabbed thighs, and he managed to get his cellphone. He’d almost dislocated an arm while getting it, but it was in his hand now. He could tap to answer, but holding it to his ear would be impossible. A voice that would’ve sounded tinny, and muffled to a human, but was loud to Cas came out the end of the phone.

“Cas, hey, you find anything yet? The kid’s getting worse.”

Castiel’s heart fell at this, and he had to take a moment to close his eyes, to tell himself to breathe deeply.

What if Jack was dead by the time he’d made it out of this mess?

With that pressing hard on Castiel’s mind, he said to Dean, hoping he could hear okay without Castiel’s phone on speaker, “Track my phone. Get Sam, and follow me.”

“What?”

“Find me,” Castiel growled. The car shook, and he was jostled in the trunk, pain radiating down his legs. His phone skidded up near his mouth, and Cas felt a pang of guilt as he cried out, worrying about Dean’s eardrums.

“Cas?” Dean was panicked. “Cas, me and Sam, we’re gonna get to you. Just hold on.”

The car went still.

Either they were there, or Azriael had heard the phone.

“Hold on! Are you—are you hurt?”

Shoes on gravel. The trunk opened, and light bombarded Cas’ eyes. A grinning Azriael picked up the phone and said into it, “Not yet. But he will be soon,” before dropping it on the ground and grinding it underneath his heel. Azriael then grabbed him, dragging him out. “Come on. We’re here.”

Maybe in a different situation Castiel would ask where _here_ was, but all he could do was think of his ruined phone. Had Dean been given sufficient time to track it? Probably not. He could try GPS, but was that even still intact?

Castiel was hauled up the drive into a house that looked newly abandoned. Before he could get his bearings he was shoved down into the basement, toppling down the stairs, shoulder dislocating from the fall. Castiel groaned, and tried to get up, but Azriael descended the stairs, grabbing him. He yanked his arms back in a gruesome pull, leaving him crying out, and whimpering. The cuffs on Castiel’s wrists were then attached to a hook hanging from the ceiling.

Nearly blinded with pain, he couldn’t see what was going on, but Azriael was walking around him.

“So…”

“Eloquent start,” Castiel said, putting as much snark into his voice as possible, which meant his tone wasn’t even enough to threaten a small cat.

“What’s left of the angels — well, we aren’t very happy with you.”

Struggling, Castiel moaned, voice gravelly. “I kind of... figured.”

“So we want to keep tabs on you.”

Castiel’s vision had cleared somewhat, and he glared at Azriael.

“How?”

With a snap of his fingers, an oven behind Azriael burst forth with flame, and metal was grabbed. He shaped it into a complicated sigil. Castiel knew what it meant. He knew what was going to happen.

“No! No!”

Azriael heated the metal in the flame. With a wave of his hand, Castiel’s clothes ripped at the seams, and fell off, littering the stone floor in tatters.

He breathed hard, crying as he struggled, as pain twanged through his whole body.

“Stop!” he begged. “You don’t have to do this!”

Azriael said nothing.

He just pressed the metal to his skin.

Castiel let out an ear-splitting scream that would’ve caused human eardrums to burst were there any nearby. Skin sizzled, bubbled, and burned. Even were this regular fire, healing from such a thing would’ve been difficult. But this was a holy fire brand. It would never go away.

The smoke swirling up into Castiel’s nostrils was just about enough to make him sick. A human would’ve been throwing up. Cas wanted to, if only to purge his system of it. And a human would smell the burning flesh and know something was wrong, but Castiel could smell the heat sizzling along the iron, could smell as each cell was obliterated beneath it. They burned away before it, the scent of his destruction filling him up.

Only seconds passed before Azriael took the branding iron away, and Castiel was old, ancient, but each second had lasted as long as a life age. The smoke stung his eyes, leaving them tear-filled. They would have been tear-filled anyway.

Azriael let out a disgusted sound as if he had just caught his adorable dog humping something. The reaction didn’t measure up at all to what had been done, or with the obliterating pain Castiel was in.

“Enough of that unpleasantness.”

_Unpleasantness_. Castiel tried to laugh, but it came out a sob.

Azriael grabbed his face, grip hurting. Castiel was forced to look at him. He studied him, look one of hatred, and then flicked his hand. The cuffs released. Castiel collapsed to the floor, grunting as he had to catch himself before the burn on his chest could hit the stone. His arms trembled, not wanting to work properly with his shoulders dislocated. And his thighs bled.

They were nothing compared to the brand. Its power reached his very Grace.

Azriael dropped a phone onto his ripped clothes.

“Call your boyfriend. I’m done with you. And Castiel… we’ll know where to find you.” He patted his chest, and then left.

Castiel stared at the phone for a few long seconds, but then picked it up, and he dialed that oh so familiar number.

It was answered.

“Dean.”


End file.
